The Distant Joke

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2026-08-25 21:26:06 -

The Distant Joke

My boots were already sunk to the ankle in the slush when I saw the shape of the packet ship hull rising from the ice, a black ribcage against the white. I was counting the hours until the spring thaw, the only thing that mattered to a man with nine fingers and a pension that depended on his presence at the gate. The wind did not blow; it pushed, a physical weight that pressed against the...

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